


The Love I'll Never Recover From

by tuliptoes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brienne is a ghost, Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister Are Not Related, Cersei is dead, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Jaime is very very sad, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, history nerd run amok, inspired by the film High Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27010465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuliptoes/pseuds/tuliptoes
Summary: A grieving Jaime arrives at Harrenhal Suites to assess his family's latest property acquisition, and finds himself sucked into a ghost story.The title comes from SG Goodman's song "Kitchen Floor":"Oh-oh and I've seen the sign, here it comesThis could be the love that I'll never recover from"
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 97
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "High Spirits" is a 80s film about a castle that is losing money, so the owner decides to market the place as the most haunted castle in Europe to attract tourists. When the bumbling Americans arrive, the castle staff pretends to haunt the place, which pisses off the real ghosts, who begin their own shenanigans. In the midst of the this, the main character, played by Steve Guttenberg, sees a beautiful ghost being murdered by her husband over and over, and manages to find a way to talk to her, and they fall in love. 
> 
> It's pretty goofy, and I haven't seen it in 20+ years, but I liked the idea of a modern man falling in love with a ghost from an earlier era, and here we are. Now, fair warning, 'High Spirits" is a comedy, and this story isn't, so you've been warned. :)
> 
> And a brief note on the history; I decided to take a page out of GRRM's book and set the history during the Wars of the Roses period of English history (which is one of his inspirations for the series). It's a fascinating period to study, but for our purposes, the Baratheons are subbing in for King Edward IV (Robert), his younger brother the Duke of Clarence (sort of Renly) and his youngest brother Richard (Stannis). And just to keep things a little more clear, the Lannisters as we know them didn't exist back then, but the other families did.

“Enjoy your stay Mr. Lannister.”

The young woman smiled at him, a familiar smile for Jaime. He’d had women use that smile on him his whole life, a smile that promised quick kisses and sweaty embraces, exactly what he’d never been interested in.

But he wasn’t cruel; he smiled back at her as she handed him his room card, his home for the next few months.

He sighed as he directed the porter to follow him to the elevator. A vacation had been his brother’s idea, but he had dismissed him like he always did, what were little brothers for than to be dismissed when they were being annoying.

But then his father had suggested it, and when his father spoke, every word was a demand, and here he was, a guest at Harrenhal Suites, the Lannister Corp.’s newest acquisition. 

It was one of a string of hotels across Westeros his father had bought in a hostile takeover of Tully Industries, a takeover that had made them many enemies across the country, and left them with new properties that needed to be assessed. His father’s words about his mission echoed around his head as he watched the porter, a young man who couldn’t be more than 20, unload his bags in his suite.

_If I took your job, are you young enough to bounce back?_

The boy, Peckeldon was written on his chest, carefully laid each bag out, handling his bags with an agonizing delicacy.

Jaime felt something stir in his chest, something like pride at how seriously the boy took his job, almost like an old memory was trying to claw its way to the surface.

He shook his head, pushing the memory down, he had no time for memories. He handed him a generous tip, nodding at the boy’s blush.

_Had I ever been that young?_

He must have, he thought, even if he couldn’t remember when.

Jaime did what he always did at a new property; he walked up to the wall by the door, and gently knocked on it.

His hand hurt afterward, the stone in the wall reverbarting up and down his left forearm, but it pleased him. He knew a bit of the history of the place, the fantastic and morbid tales of dead lords and ladies who ruled here, but he was glad that the original structure was still intact.

It was a beautiful building, he thought to himself. His room was a little gloomy, the sun had already set, but with the multiple windows in the suite, it would be less harsh with some daylight.

He sighed as he checked his watch. It was already 8, too late for food from the dining room, too late for a quick tour around the building, too late for anything except sleep.

He removed his jacket, throwing it over the couch in the living area. Yes, he would have to do all those things, someday, but for now, sleep was what he wanted most.

_Sleep and dreaming, maybe I can dream of her_

He shook his head as he unbuttoned his shirt. He wished and wished to dream of her, his wife, and she stayed away, every night she ran from him, like a ghost that refused to be seen by a mere mortal. He searched and searched, but she was never there, just out of reach even in dreams.

He turned out the light, and he was asleep, still searching.

***

He had not closed the curtains, so he woke up as the full thrust of dawn came pouring through his windows.

But he’d been right, he laughed to himself, the room looked almost homey with the sunlight hitting every dark corner in his suite.

That was the biggest problem he’d seen in his admittedly limited observations: the suites were spacious, the furniture was comfortable, but the hotel, formerly castle, was just grim, like the original builders had gone out of their way to make it as depressing as possible.

_Maybe it would be better to just burn the place down and start again._

He laughed to himself, a bitter, aching laugh, a joke that was funny and unbearable at the same time.

_Aerys looked at him, Jaime could see the desperation in his eyes, he remembered that part so clearly. And then it stopped, the old man nodded, and his eyes went blank, and Jaime knew now, maybe he’d even known then, that was the moment he decided._

He took a breath, closed his eyes, let the memories pass through him. They were dead, they were all dead now, for better or worse, it was all over.

_Like Cersei_

His breath caught as he saw her on that last morning, fuming at him, turning away from his kiss on her cheek.

But he had kissed her goodbye, said to her ‘Love you,” as he locked the door behind him. He’d done everything right, but still, he couldn’t help but search for her in his dreams. He wanted to hold her, kiss her properly, tell her he was sorry, so very sorry, it didn’t even matter what for, but she never let him.

_My Cersei wouldn’t give in that easily._

It had been six months, six months since she had lost control of her car, crashed into a barrier, killing herself instantly. 

He had wanted to die with her, but his gods were cruel, he was left here without her, in this dreary former castle, thinking of the ones he couldn’t save. 

He shuddered, rubbed his hands over his arms. He looked around, yes, he could still see the sunshine peeking in through the windows, but the room was cold, icy cold, his teeth started chattering as he stood there.

And he felt something there, like someone was with him, watching him, judging him for shivering, for freezing up while freezing, and it had been years since he’d faced an opponent in the ring, Cersei had hated boxing, even for fun, but he swung his arm behind him, expecting to make contact with someone, but there was nothing.

Of course there was nothing.

Chill in the air or not, he was alone.

He laughed, laughed at his own absurdity, but he stopped as another blast of icy air filled his lungs. 

_I must be under a vent._

He shook his head, not quite believing his own thoughts, but what else could it be?

In the hallway, he headed toward the lobby, and he was almost sweating, the morning sun was making the hallways extra stuffy, but he sighed, because after the sudden chills in his room, it was a relief to be warm, even if it was far too warm.

The woman who checked him in last night was still behind the front desk, and she smiled, her brown eyes sparkling at him, and he smiled back as he approached.

“What can I do for you Mr. Lannister?”

He looked at her nametag, Pia, and smiled again.

“Can you turn down the air conditioning in my room? It was a bit much this morning.”

He expected her to smile at him, nod, then give him a cheery grin while she adjusted the temperature.

He did not expect her face to drain of color as she gulped.

“There must be some mistake Mr. Lannister. In the autumn season, we have all the AC units turned off.”

She looked away from him, her frown deepening. “Are you feeling alright sir? I could have breakfast brought to you if you’re coming down with something.”

He shook his head in a daze, watching her concerned eyes as she raised her hand to his forehead and delicately felt for his temperature.

“You don’t feel too warm, but new environments can do crazy things to your brain.” 

She said the words as if he hadn’t been shivering in his room just a few minutes ago, but she didn’t know that. She didn’t know it didn’t make sense.

It didn’t, but he decided that it didn’t matter that it hadn’t made sense. He’d been stressed, and grieving, it made sense that relaxation would be hard on him.

He sighed, and her eyes eased a bit. “Perhaps you’d like to go for a walk? The autumn air is really quite refreshing.”

His stomach started to growl, but it was a good idea. He would have to do it anyway, and it was childish, but he wasn’t quite ready to return to his room. 

“After breakfast,” she said with a knowing grin. She checked her watch and beamed at him. “There’s still time. Just ask one of the servers if you’d like anything that’s not there and they’ll make it for you, it’s no problem.”

He groaned on the inside, because he’d been enjoying talking to her, she was kind and thoughtful, and both of them had been able to forget why he was here. But it was back now, and she and the rest of the staff would of course cater to anything he wanted. It was expected, but degrading too, like he couldn’t handle the disappointment of them running out of scrambled eggs.

_I’m not my father_

He bit back the urge to scream the words at her, covering the impulse with a small smile before turning and walking away.

***

Jaime found himself in a little park left of the main building. The pamphlet he had picked up from the lobby told him this used to be part of the outer walls of the keep, but was pared down and transformed three decades ago.

It was pleasant, he thought, and Pia had been right, the air was crisp and cool, and he felt almost invigorated for the first time since …

_He saw the pictures of her mangled car, the police officer told him that no one could have survived, even if she had worn a seatbelt, it wouldn’t have mattered. He felt something break inside at the words, he didn’t believe them, he could have saved her, he could have convinced her to wear her seat belt, he could have …_

He snapped back as he heard the cry of a distant bird, a sad sound, like the bird was lonely, calling out for another to come sing with him. It’s sad, but hopeful too, like the bird knows it’s only a matter of time before its call is answered.

The wind rustled the paper in his hand, and he looked down, followed the path to something called The Spirit Walk.

He followed the brick path, finding a small pleasure in both the warm sun on his face and the cool breeze on his back. He’s so relaxed he almost missed the first plaque, nestled between two trees, one on both sides of the small structure.

It’s a deep brown memorial built into the ground. He runs his fingers over the raised text, a brief biography of a man, Roose Bolton, who was executed for treason in the 15th century. 

There’s a portrait of him carved into the stone, and Jaime flinches at the ferret-like features. The text says he was bled dry as punishment for conspiring to usurp the throne. 

A slow way to go, plenty of time to think and repent on one’s actions, thought Jaime, but he’d prefer an end like his wife’s. She was at fault, but it had been quick.

He walked on, unsettled by Bolton’s story, and not quite sure why. It was an old story, many lord’s, and a few ladies, have been called up to the execution stand for misdeeds or one kind or another, and here he was, centuries later, when the throne was little more than a decoration, and he was touring their death grounds.

He walked beneath a tree, and shivered as a cold gust ripped through the air. 

Another plaque was a similar story. 

The man who inherited the estate after Bolton’s demise, Vargo Hoat, was executed by dismemberment for attempting to rape his liege lord's wife. 

Jaime winced and moved on. 

He kept walking, not even stopping anymore, the peace of the walk having soured at the reminder of what this place was.

He’d reached the end, the last plaque, and he was set to walk away from the grim reminders, but a heavy gust of wind kept him back. It lifted up his hair, his jacket, the wind cut right through his sweater, cutting through every crack in his armor. 

He reached out to steady himself against the last plaque, and the wind stopped, like someone had just turned off a tornado, and he took a second to catch his breath.

He couldn’t explain it, not really, but he got the sense that something was demanding he pay his respects before leaving.

He ran his hand over the plaque, letting the smooth letters center him, before finally reading.

_The Blue Lady (name unknown)_

_In 1420, at the age of nineteen, The Blue Lady followed the young Lord Renly Baretheon as he fought with his older brother for the crown. Reportedly, she was a fearsome fighter; some contemporary reports say she could run with a man under each arm without strain; others say she was a giantess and stood well over eight feet tall._

_These are likely conjectures, but what is known is that she was convicted of regicide after she stabbed Baretheon on the eve of his battle with his brother Lord Stannis Baretheon. She was put on trial, insisting that ‘a shadow shaped like Lord Stannis’ had been the true culprit, but her far-fetched claims were rejected and she was beheaded at dawn the morning after her trial._

_As she was a noblewoman, her father requested that her body be returned to him, and that her name be stricken from the record, and Lord Stannis granted both requests. There have been many theories, but the identity of The Blue Lady is in all likelihood lost to us._

Jaime stood and looked up at the sky, the grey of the morning was gone, the bright blue of the afternoon had settled in finally. Even the sun felt warmer, but he shivered.

_Nineteen, she was only nineteen._

The carving of her from behind, her short hair covering her face as she looked out into the distance. He didn’t know why, it clearly didn’t matter anymore, but his heart ached for this young woman, this _girl_ who died here. She was surely guilty, but he remembered the history involved. 

King Robert had died, and while he and his wife had many children, they were declared illegitimate when it was discovered that Robert had a binding engagement with another woman before his marriage, and then his brothers took to the battlefield to fight for the crown.

After his brother’s death, Stannis took the throne, only to die a few years later on the battlefield, the last of the Baretheons left to rot under a parking lot until his bones were found just a few years back.

_You killed him, and it didn’t even matter._

He ran his hand over the plaque one last time, leaving those ghosts behind him, heading back to his room, praying to see the one ghost that refused to torment him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History lesson:
> 
> In the real history, the Duke of Clarence was a little shit who kept getting involved in plots to steal his brother's throne. Eventually, he tried one too many times, and Edward gave the order to kill him (mostly likely it was their brother Richard who did the deed). Edward was deeply bitter about the decision, and while it probably did *need* to be done, he regretted it until he died.
> 
> Now, the stuff about his marriage being invalid was a theory that came up in the excellent novel, "The Sunne in Splendour" by Sharon Kay Penman. It's a fictionalized version of the Wars of the Roses, and while it's long, it's a gripping yarn, and if you want a non-Richard III hating approach, this will do it. She even makes a convincing case that Richard was not behind the murder of his nephews, but well, short of a ghost visit, we're not getting an answer on that one.
> 
> The portrait of The Blue Lady is based on this breathtaking painting: https://ladyoftarth-posts.tumblr.com/post/116347815123/brienne-heading-home-to-tarth-after-the-wars


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime meets The Blue Lady

“Why would you put _him_ in that room?”

He stopped in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt the whispered conversation, which he knew was about him.

“Where else could we put him? It’s our best room, he’s the boss' son, we didn’t have a choice.”

Pia sighed. “But he knows something is up, this is going to cost us all our jobs.”

Even whispering, Jaime could hear the anger in her voice, and he flinched inwardly. He could already tell that he didn’t want that to happen, but it might not be up to him. 

There was something here, something deeply unsettling, and he didn’t need three months to tell him that whatever it was, it would be enough to get his father to dump the property. And while Jaime couldn’t offer a guess as to who would buy it, it would be sold to someone who didn’t want to run a hotel; Tywin wouldn’t sell someone the means to compete with him.

As much as Jaime liked the kids who worked here, maybe the best thing he could do for them would be to tell them to start looking now.

At the moment, Peck looked his way, and blushed, his whole face going red as Pia also turned to him, her face blanching again.

“Mr. Lannister, did you enjoy your walk?”

He nodded, and decided to have some pity on the two of them. 

“It was a good walk, but I’ll be retiring to the suite for the rest of the day. Can I call you for meals Pia?”

She nodded, her face still stony but her professionalism kicked in. He smiled at her, perfectly willing to pretend that he hadn’t heard them gossiping about him. But he was glad he’d heard them; there was something wrong with his room, something they couldn’t control.

He laughed as he opened the door; the morning light had faded, left behind a dreary living space, but it already was feeling like home.

He could be as miserable as he wanted behind these walls, and no one was going to fight him on it. He smiled so much at the thought that it hurt.

***

He woke up, pulled the blanket tighter around him. There was moonlight in his room, again he’d forgotten to close his curtains, and in the pale light, the room was cold enough to see his breath.

He shivered again, holding his blanket tighter, hoping it was strong enough to keep the cold out, even if he knew it wasn’t. 

He briefly shot his arm out, grabbing his phone, trying to check the temperature, and hitting the refresh button over and over as his phone had the audacity to tell him it was only 68 degrees outside.

His teeth chattered as he pulled his arm back into the blanket’s embrace. He thought about getting up, jumping into the shower, turning the water up so high that his skin became pink. It was a good idea, he told himself, he would feel better for doing it, but he couldn’t convince his legs to move, couldn’t get his body to move at all aside from the shivers.

And then it stopped.

Like the wind earlier, he was cold, almost unbearably chilled, and then he was sweating as the blanket was too warm. He threw it off him, letting the warm air hit his skin. 

Eventually, his skin cooled. Eventually, he got back to sleep. Eventually he convinced himself it was just a weird quirk of the room.

He did not see _her,_ looming over his bed, staring at him with icy blue eyes, assessing the man trying to sleep in _her_ home.

Although eventually he would.

***

He did not sleep well. He didn’t dream of Cersei, of course he didn’t, but he did dream of eyes, cold and blue, following him, hunting him, demanding his attention.

He woke up sweating, but the dream faded, and he forgot it quickly. He’d been here for a day, one day, and it had been nothing but creepy feelings and weird weather, and he was done. 

He grabbed his phone, ready to tell his father to dump it, the Lannisters were clearly not welcome here, it was time to get the message and move on.

He held the phone up to his face, and he saw _her_ in the shiny surface.

His heart betrayed him as he whipped around; he knew, he knew it had not been Cersei appearing in his phone. He _knew_ , but his heart didn’t, and it leapt at the chance to see her again, even if only for a second.

His heart clenched as he took in the figure before him.

She was blue, the deep color shimmering off the hazy outline around her. She, the amorphous blob in front of him had to be a she, she looked at him with piercing blue eyes, and he shuddered under her gaze, her shape were swirling in front of him, and the only constant were those eyes of hers, relentless, violent eyes that would not leave him be. He wanted to run, he wanted to scream, he wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend this wasn’t happening, but he couldn’t tear himself away from the transparent figure in front of him.

He felt his heart pounding in his chest, but he couldn’t be calmed, he couldn’t speak, there was nothing to do but stare at her as she stood in his room.

He blinked, and she was gone. 

He exhaled, his heart was still pounding, nearly ready to burst out of his chest, but he kept himself steady.

He rubbed his eyes, forced himself to yawn, reminding his body that he was tired, he was so tired he was imagining a ghost, just not the ghost he wanted.

His hand started to ache, and he looked down and saw he was clutching his phone, his knuckles were white against the metal box. He relaxed his hand, gently setting his phone on the nightstand, his earlier anger long forgotten as he crawled back into bed, curling up on his side, forcing his body to relax so he could sleep and forget everything he’d seen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime sees Brienne memories.
> 
> And I've upped the chapter count, but that could change as we go through the story; it's all done, just not sure of the story breaks.

_ He looked down at his hands, the hands of a warrior, the hands of a failed warrior. _

_He felt like weeping, what good was a warrior who could not protect his lord?_

_He wanted to scream, but he found he didn’t have the voice for it. He had told the truth to anyone who would listen, but no one believed him, he was going to die without a shred of honor, and there was nothing he could do about it. He could not seek justice for Lord Renly, he was trapped in here while his lord’s killer walked free with a crown on his head. He couldn’t even tell his father the truth._

_He heard footsteps in the hall, and he tried to stand, but he stumbled as the chains around his feet protested his movement. He tugged on them, trying to break free, the panic setting in as he tried to get away, but there was no hope, the chains were iron, and he had no sword to break them._

_“My lady, it’s time.”_

_He turned toward the voice, saying nothing, only nodding. The guard opened the door, as two more entered, roughly grabbing his arms, putting his strong hands in chains as the third freed his feet._

_They led him to a hallway, and he could hear a crowd outside, jeering and roaring for him, they were screaming for him._

_The doors opened to the bright sunlight, it hurt his eyes, and he laughed to himself that it would only hurt for a few more minutes. The crowd stopped their chant as the guards led him up the wooden stairs to the gallows. He was pushed to his knees in front of a man wearing a black hood as the crowd sounded on the urge of rioting._

_“Do you have any last words, traitor?”_

_He shook his head, what else could he say? He would die knowing the truth; that would have to be enough._

_He felt a flutter of panic in his chest, but he could be brave, he would be brave this one last time._

_He placed his head on the block, and he felt a gentle kiss of steel on his skin before the axeman drew his weapon and swung down -_

Jaime gasped as he woke, his hands instinctively going to his neck, and yes, it was all there, he was himself, he was intact, just breathe, just breathe, just breathe.

It had been two days since he’d had the vision that hadn’t happened, two days of peace from that _woman_ with the blue eyes, the figure who he had definitely not seen in his room two days ago.

He looked at his hands, and in the early morning light he could see his hands, not hers, he was himself again.

A thrill of fear went through him; he had done his best to put her out of his mind, he’d stayed away from her plaque, he’d been sleeping with extra blankets, he’d been drafting up a proposal for how his company could transform this dreary hotel into a destination people would actually want to visit.

And now she was back.

He had run from her, and she had found him hiding.

_Time to stop running._

_***_

“What do you know about The Blue Lady?”

He pulled his eyes back to Pia, expecting her to blanch, or start shaking at the mention of the spirit haunting the hotel. 

He had not expected her to sigh as she looked away from him. 

“I know what’s on the plaque. She was executed for regicide, and no one knows her name.”

“And?”

She looked up at him, with something like concern in her eyes. “And?”

The frustration hit him full force, and he raised his voice, yelling out “Is she the figure I keep seeing in my room?”

The lobby was empty, the few other guests having already retreated to their rooms for the evening, but knowing that Pia was the only one to hear his outburst didn’t make him feel better.

“Sorry,” he said, and he was, he hated this part of himself. “I’m sorry Pia.”

She nodded at him, like she forgave him, but he knew the truth; she had no choice to forgive him because her livelihood depended on him, so she would let it go, even when she didn’t want to.

“Yes,” she whispered as she choked back her tears. “It’s her.”

His breath left his body, he had to steady himself on the counter, because he knew it was her, he wasn’t the idiot his father thought he was, but he didn’t want to believe it either.

He had seen a ghost. That the world he was living in now and he needed a minute to come to terms with this new world.

So he took his minute before standing up and looking again at Pia.

“Who is she?”

She shook her head. “We don’t know.”

He scoffed. “You’ve never asked?”

_How could you not ask?_

“She doesn’t speak,” Pia said, her voice finally hitting a sharp note, well past the point where he deserved it. “She doesn’t hurt anyone, she’s just here.”

He was set to argue that point, but he stopped himself. She had not hurt him, a cold front in his room or a bracing wind did not count as hurting him. 

_She just wanted me to know she was here._

Yes, that felt right to him. She forced him to read her plaque, she made her presence known when he was about to urge his father to scrap his hotel, her home, for better or worse. Yes, he had to know about her before he did anything rash.

“Thank you Pia.”

He pulled out his wallet, leaving her a 50 dragon note for a tip. Her eyes went big before she took it from him.

He walked back to his room, almost in a daze, but more like the opposite of a daze, he was seeing clearly for the first time in a week. 

His hotel had a ghost.

He had a ghost, a ghost that kept reaching out to him, that wanted him to know her, a ghost that could sabotage any attempt at renovation or sale.

He would have to free her, he would have to find what was keeping her here and let her out.

So he would.

***

Jaime slammed his laptop in frustration, wincing as he heard the sharp thunk of the plastic as it closed.

He’d spent hours searching for information, any hint or even theory about who she was, and there was nothing.

Yes, there were theories, so many theories, ranging from the plausible (she was a minor noble who’s mysterious death almost matches up with the Blue Lady’s) to the absurd (she was smuggled away and flew away on a dragon) to the downright bizarre (she was a demon sent to plunge Westeros into 800 years of darkness). 

He’d chuckled at the last one, because it was hard to imagine _Renly Baratheron_ would have been all that important to the grand scheme of history. Not even his brothers, who were both kings, had had all that much import. 

And like The Blue Lady, they were all dead and gone, their bodies merely bones. 

But for some reason, she was still here. _She_ was haunting the halls where she had died, and he scowled at the empty air because he still wasn’t any closer to knowing why.

A yawn broke across his face, and he realized that he was ready to collapse. He’d done nothing all day long, and it had worn him out. He fell into bed, he was asleep a minute later.

_He had a sword in his hand, and he was wearing a dress, standing alone in front of a small group of boys._

_He looked down, one of the boys was sneering up at him._

_Jaime raised his sword, a wooden sword with a sharp tip, and the snotty boy raised his own._

_The boy attacked, and Jaime parried like the sword was an extension of his arm, he knew exactly what to do, how to move and dodge, this snotty boy had no chance, and he was on the ground with the sword at his neck within a minute._

_“Yield?” he said, his voice soft and light, but proud, so very proud too._

_The boy scowled but nodded. Jaime offered his hand to help him up, because he’d won, he could be gracious in his victory._

_The boy though, he could not be gracious in defeat, slapping the offered hand away, and sneering at Jaime._

_“I don’t need your help, Freak.”_

_He left with his friends, the humiliation Jaime felt trapping him in place. He watched the boy and his friends walk away, that was important, he could not cry in front of them._

_He gripped the sword, walked over to a practice dummy and started thwacking it with all his might, chipping away at it as hot tears streamed down his face._

_He had won this battle, he would always win these battles, but those little shits would always win the war. They would grow up and have adventures, be knighted, and they would finally have the power to force their will on their lessers, while he ..._

_This was the story of his whole life, being good, being the best, and getting only scorn. His shoulder ached, his hands were red and blistered, but he didn’t care. He imagined their faces, their sneering, scowling faces, and he beat them all bloody._

Jaime woke up, pulling his hands to his face, but they were fine.

He sat up, holding his head in hands, _his hands for sure_ , and he focused on his breathing.

_Why are you doing this to me?_

He wanted to scream the question at her, hoping that she would answer, that she would give him some hint of how to heal her, but there was nothing, just questions and blue eyes, judging him for his failures.

_If you’re looking to judge me, get in line, Blue Lady._

He went back to sleep and dreamed in blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you body swap if you don't have a body? Life finds a way, but I like the idea of Brienne giving Jaime her memories/feelings of her life as her way of communicating with him. It's a little forward, but hey, she's had 600 years to get over her shyness. 
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments, they always make my day. :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime learns more about The Blue Lady's past

The grieving mind was a terrible thing, Jaime thought to himself as he opened his door and saw his father standing on the other side.

His mind took him back to the last time Tywin had showed up at his door.

Officers had come to pick him up at Lannister Corp., telling him in clipped words that his wife had died and he needed to come with them to identify her body.

_Her body, because she didn't exist anymore, and her flesh, her beautiful, flawless, empty body was all that was left._

But he was proud of himself that day. He held himself together by sheer force of will as he looked down at her mangled form. He held her hand, her cold, empty hand, and he kissed her temple for the last time, and he supposed that the officers drove him home because he didn't remember that part.

He did remember answering the door and his father standing in front of him. He had the insane wish that his father would hold his arms open and embrace him, that the man who also knew what it was to lose a wife would hold him and tell him it was going to be okay, gently lying to both of them.

But that was not his father, and the ache of that realization was almost as painful as losing Cersei. Instead, Tywin handed him a bottle of whiskey, told him he was not needed at the office for the next three weeks, and then left him to his grief.

And here he was again, pulling him back to that day.

“Jaime,” he said with his usual clipped tone as he walked into Jaime’s suite, his lips preemptively curling at the slightly messy state of the room.

What are you doing here, Jaime wanted to scream at his father, but he didn’t need to ask that. Tywin was being Tywin, checking up on him, making sure his idiot son didn’t screw up on this basic task.

“How is the assessment coming along?”

Jaime cringed as he watched his father look around the suite. It was the best they offered, Jaime had seen enough of the other rooms to know that was the truth, and yes, the morning light did wonders for the room, but it was afternoon, and the gloom was back in full force, and it was a warm day, so the whole castle had a slightly musty smell from the humidity in the air.

“It’s going well,” he said. He lied, he had to lie, because he had to solve the Blue Lady’s mystery before anything else happened. “I still need time here, especially since their big tourist season is approaching, but I’m going to recommend we keep and improve the property.”

Jaime felt a slight breeze on his neck, and it took every ounce of his self control to restrain himself from turning around to look for her. 

But he knew she was there, that was enough.

Tywin raised his eyebrow at his son, the first, mild sign of his displeasure. 

“You think we should keep this dump?”

Jaime knew the right answer, but he saw Peck’s commitment to his job, Pia’s breezy charm with the guests, and hell, even the busboys in the dining room were efficient and courteous, and they barely got tips at all.

He saw what his father would do, what his father wanted _him_ to do, he knew the thrill of his father's hand on his shoulder as he congratulated his son on making the right decision, and he was tempted to grab that fleeting affection while he could.

But, there was _her,_ the ghost who reached out to him, the long dead woman who needed to rest, the last person on Earth who needed him.

It wasn't really a choice.

“I do,” he said, his voice steady. “This place has good bones, we can build on that.”

Tywin flared his nostrils, but he said nothing, looking around at the dingy walls, the old carpet that was downright flat in places, before turning back to his son, looking him in the eye, and finding him wanting.

“Is this about that Targ nonsense?”

“No.”

His voice was firm, his gaze was steely, it was the mask he’d worn for 15 years now, and he would be damned if he let his father drag him back there.

Tywin raised his eyebrow again, but only nodded. “Good.”

Tywin headed for the door. “I’ll leave this in your hands.”

He left, and Jaime could breathe.

_You’re safe_

He felt the breeze on his neck again, but he didn’t look back.

***

_He was wearing a gown he hated. It was a deep purple, exactly the wrong color for his fair hair and deeply freckled skin. The cut was wrong too, emphasizing his flat chest and wide hips instead of smoothing them out._

_If he didn’t know better, he’d swear the boys of the village had paid his seamstress to concoct this abominable creation just to torment him. Even his father, the one person in the world who he could trust to love him, had winced when he emerged from his room. But he suspected it was more that his seamstress had given up on making a flattering dress for him, and just made one out of extra material she had lying around._

_It was humiliating, but it wasn’t all bad; he’d found a dark corner to hide in, and so far, no one else had found it. He could watch the dancing from here, and if those horrible boys wanted to laugh at him, he was too far away to hear it._

_He slumped against the wall, holding back the tears, because it was his party, his father was hosting it for_ him, _he should be the one smiling and dancing. But love wasn’t in his future anymore than dancing was, and it was so deeply unfair he wanted to scream._

 _“There you are,” said a deep voice, and he jumped as he saw_ him. _His father had invited Renly, his liege lord, as a courtesy, but neither of them had expected him to actually come. But he had returned the invitation, he had arrived two days ago, and here was the most handsome man he had ever seen approaching him._

_“Happy nameday my lady,” Renly bowed to him and he curtsied awkwardly. “I was hoping you would honor me with a dance?”_

_His tongue felt too big for his mouth, he couldn’t speak, so he nodded, and he took Renly’s hand, they were both in gloves, but he could swear he felt a spark flicker between them._

_He had his doubts, but Renly was smiling at him, and that was a smile that would lead him to all kinds of ruin, but he trusted it too. Renly held him close, not even seeming to mind that he had to look up to his dancing partner._

_“Let them laugh,” he whispered to him as he gasped. “They are little shits, and you are a lady born to rule them. Their words mean nothing to the likes of us.”_

_Renly let him go, spending his time with other daughters of his subjects, but he came back to him again and again._

_His heart fluttered everytime. It was the happiest day of his life._

_Finally, love had found him._

There was no panic when he woke up. Instead, he felt a familiar ache as he reached for Cersei, before he remembered that she was too far out of reach. 

It had been six months already, how had he not learned yet that she wasn’t coming back. How could his heart still betray him like this?

He let one tear fall before sucking the rest into his body. 

Mornings had been his favorite time with Cersei, he would see her sleeping, she looked so peaceful asleep. She would wake up and kiss him, they would make love more often than not, and he’d spend the day with the memories of her skin, her smell all over him. He would work at a job he hated to give her the life she wanted, and he was glad of that, because the money made her happy, and he only wanted her to be happy.

And she was gone, not even her ghost remained to comfort him, and he wanted to weep with the injustice, but he heard his father’s voice in his head, Lannister’s don’t fall apart. If his brakes had failed, and she’d had to identify his remains, she wouldn’t have fallen apart, he was sure of it.

So he wouldn’t either. He would stay together, he would turn to stone if he had to, but she would be proud of him for it.

He blinked and his lady was there, shimmering and wavy in the moonlight. He stood up, still in his pajamas, but he didn’t think she would mind.

He looked down and saw for the first time that she was floating, hovering above the ground. 

It was so hard to look at her, she was like floating water, a lake no man would drown in, except her eyes, those were enough to pull you in and steal your breath.

He reached his hand out to touch her, but she pulled away from him, she was afraid of him, and he wanted to laugh, what would a ghost have to be afraid of?

“Are you?” he groped for the right words. “Do you have a shape?”

It was a foolish question, he knew it, and she glared at him, her eyes were so expressive and she never blinked, and he realized how close he was to losing it when he thought of a ghost blinking and just wanted to start laughing.

He closed his eyes, expecting her to disappear again, but instead she showed him her shape.

He looked at her, looked up at her and he knew why she kept herself formless. In his dreams, he was her, with all the shame and self-loathing attached, and he knew exactly how she felt about herself, and he wanted to tell her that she was beautiful, but he couldn’t lie to her, they had only just met.

She was not beautiful, with her mismatched features and her broken nose (he could hear what Cersei would say to her and he was deeply ashamed of his wife), but she was impressive, tall and muscular, a fierce presence betrayed by her soft, kind eyes. 

They were the same icy sapphires as before, but they weren't judging him, now they were pleading with him, begging him for help he didn't know how to give.

He was staring, he knew it was rude, but he hoped she would understand, ghosts would know all about staring.

"What's your name?" He whispered the question, so afraid to spook her, he had no idea how to chase a ghost, and he was still in his pajamas, he couldn't hope to win.

She looked at him, and said, holding up her hand with the thumbs down.

“You won’t tell me?”

She huffed, yes, he told himself, ghosts can huff, and pointed to her throat and the thick wound across her neck.

The headsman’s cut had been clean, it took her head clear off, and even in ghost form, the mark was still there, preventing her from speaking, even in death, she was still marked by her guilt.

“You can’t speak?”

She held her thumb up, and he groaned. He needs to get a ghost out of his hotel, and of course, she can’t tell him how, because they would be too damn easy.

“In my dreams, I’m you?”

She gave him a thumbs up and a sad look, and he knew that he was stepping in her memories, but it hit him differently when she was standing in front of him. He was reliving her life, she had been a real girl, who loved and fought and now that he saw her, he realized everything she had to put up with was no fault of her own, and he knew what his first step should be.

“Can you follow me?”

She did. 

Mercifully, the lobby was empty. Pia had told them that while no one was at the desk, they were near the phones in the back, so someone was always available, if not visible.

Which is exactly what he needed as he led a ghost to the one charming display in the lobby.

It was a map of Westeros, and the guests were invited to leave pins in their hometowns, so everyone could see how far they’d come to stay at Harrenhal Suites. Jaime thought it was probably more of a marketing tool than anything else, but it would serve his purpose tonight.

“Can you tell me where you’re from?”

She squinted at the map, and Jaime almost wanted to ask her how much it had changed in 600 years, but he remembered she couldn’t answer him if she wanted to.

It didn’t take her long to find her home; she pointed to a spec of land off the western coast, a tiny island called Tarth.

“Tarth?”

She looked at him, her bright eyes looked so sorrowful, like she would be weeping if she still had the tears to cry. Her shoulders started shaking, like she was only just holding back the dam, and she vanished.

She had had a father, maybe she had had friends too (although, based on his dreams, he doubted that), and she had left them to champion her lord, the man she loved, and 600 years later, the mere mention of her home was enough to shock her into running away.

600 years could make for a lot of guilt. He’d had 15, and even that was sometimes too much. He picked up a pin and gently placed the marker in Lannisport, and for reasons he couldn’t quite figure out, he did the same for Tarth.

He went back to his room, hoping she was okay as he sat down at his desk and started up his laptop.

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for.

There weren’t a lot of Tarth nobles, no matter what century you were looking in. The line had died out with her father, and once he found the Evenstar, Lord Selwyn, finding the lord’s children was easy.

He tried to ignore her father, but it was impossible. The man had married, had four children, and buried his wife and all of their issue. Brienne, _Brienne_ was her name, had lasted the longest, dying in 1420 of a fever, predeceasing her father by five years. Selwyn had named a young man in his service, Ser Podrick Payne, as his heir and died bitter and broken. 

Lord Podrick had published Selwyn’s partial memoirs, but Brienne’s father hadn’t been able to finish them, his last entry detailing how much he hated living while his family didn’t, and he died a few months after putting those words to the page. 

It was a hard tale to read, and she’d been dealing with it for 600 years. 

He gingerly closed his laptop and crawled back into bed.

She had a name now. 

And he couldn’t say why, but he hoped she would visit him again. 

As he drifted off, he reminded himself to wish for Cersei, and chastised himself for forgetting. 

When he woke up, he found himself upset that he hadn't dreamed of either of them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne share an intimate encounter

_He was in armor, he was wearing a rainbow cloak, and he was happy._

_He’d won the melee, he’d won his place in his lord’s rainbow guard, and he was happy._

_It wasn’t a perfect happiness, but here he stood, unbuckling the armor from Lord Renly, the man he loved. It wasn’t everything, but it was enough._

_He removed Renly’s breastplate, and Renly smiled at him, and he felt something warm inside him, something soft and vulnerable, something that would need to be kept safe._

_And he would keep it safe, but an occasional indulgence was permitted. He placed the breastplate on the stand, and in the corner of his eye, he saw something, but he dismissed it, the armor needed his attention._

_He heard Renly gasp, and he turned back, and saw_ it.

_It was a black shadow, with the face of Lord Stannis, and before he could even scream, Renly was dead, stabbed in the back, drowning in his own blood._

_He screamed as he gathered his lord in his arms, wailing his name, calling on the gods themselves to save him, but they did not answer._

Jaime woke up and was not surprised to find her standing over him, her cold hand on his sweaty forehead, his fingers gently probing his mind.

_She didn’t do it._

It surprised him to learn that he wasn’t surprised; he had thought she was guilty at first, but no, the girl that danced with Renly, that loved him so deeply she left her home to fight for him, that girl would never hurt him.

“Brienne,” he said softly, and she jumped, pulling her hand away from him.

“That’s your name?”

She held her thumb up, her hand trembling. How long had it been since anyone had said her name? How long had it been since anyone had seen the real her?

All he had to offer her was his pity, but she wouldn’t take it, turning her back on him, floating across the room, away from him.

He stood up, following her, he reached for her arm to pull her back toward him, but his fingers went through her, and she shivered at his touch.

His fingers tingled painfully, as if he had plunged them into the northern ocean, but she turned back to him, a question in her eyes as she raised her hand to her mouth, like she was shocked he had wanted to touch her.

His very bones ached for Cersei, it had been so long he was forgetting what she felt like, and in front of him was a woman, a ghost, who knew all about that kind of loss, a woman who had been alone for all her life, and then some.

_We’re exactly the same._

He stepped toward her, reached out to her, and ran his hand along her cheek, and he felt himself pulled into her mind; he was 14, and tall, so very tall, but tall enough to punch the stableboy who would not leave the scullery maid alone. He broke the bastard’s nose, told him he wasn’t welcome in Evenfall Hall ever again, and the boy ran in fear, and for the first time, he felt powerful, like maybe he wasn’t cursed, maybe he had a purpose after all.

Jaime pulled his hand back, breathless and shaking, but he didn’t move as she stepped closer and ran her hand down his arm, and he was seven, but really, she was seven, standing over her newborn brother, a brother who would never know his mother. She stroked his hair as he slept, and she brushed away the tear that fell on his forehead, and she promised that she would be his mother, that she would protect him like a mother would. 

She pulled her hand back, and he was fully himself, and her eyes were shiny and bright as she looked at him, seeing all the pieces that made him himself. 

He took another step toward her, so close that he could kiss her, if she was solid he would kiss her, and it hurt a little to know that he couldn’t. He brought his hand to her face, and she mirrored him, and together they plunged into their memories, becoming one soul experiencing all of their lives at once.

He won the melee that led him to Renly, she experienced pure bliss as Cersei lowered herself onto her for the first time, and he was saying goodbye to his father, the father who loved him but a father who could not hide the disappointment in his eyes, and she was fighting with Cersei the night before she died, Cersei demanding that she buy her a new car, because she couldn’t be seen in an older model when her friends had the newest one, and she knew she would give in, but she couldn’t understand why it was so important to the woman she loved.

Jaime closed his eyes, and he was standing on the beach, the beach that swallowed his brother, weeping silently, alone in his grief, alone in his life, always alone; and Brienne was cleaning their bedroom, and found a pair of men’s socks that weren’t hers, socks that could only mean one thing, and she threw them away, willed the realization away from her mind, chose blissful ignorance over the truth, when it comes to Cersei, she will always choose ignorance.

The shame of that moment pulls him closer to her, her ghostly frame overlaps him, and he’s twelve, as tall as a man, as tall as the man in front of him, who sneers at him, throwing a rose at his feet. He is frozen, his tongue is too thick for speech, and he stands there, letting the tears fall down his ugly face, letting this man insult him because he dared to exist.

She pulls herself forward, her incorporeal frame fully over his, and he can feel the memory coming up, swallowing both of them, and he’s so afraid of it, he wants to run, but he feels her presence in his mind, and he knows she’s strong enough to see it, so he can be strong too.

_Aerys was in front of her, his violet eyes wide and desperate._

_“Please Lannister, tell your father I can get his money tomorrow, just one more day, that’s all I need, and his coffers will be stuffed full. You have my word.”_

_She watched as the old man’s hands gripped his desk, his white knuckles clenching the wood so hard she was afraid he would break it._

_“I’m sorry Mr. Targaryen, but you knew the terms of the loan. Your company belongs to us. It’s already been done.”_

_Her father had sent her on this mission, and she wasn’t a fool, she knew this was a test, and she couldn’t help but feel that she had passed. She kept her cool in the face of the man’s emotions, she was cold, but not cruel, surely her father would be proud of her now._

_And if her family also stood to gain a mint from the Targ mines and export industry, so much the better._

_It was a good day for her. Only 19, she was under a lot of pressure, but she was meeting it, she’s showing her father exactly what she can do. Later on, she’ll recount this to Cersei, and she would shower her with kisses, and Tyrion will praise his big brother for keeping his family’s legacy for brutal efficiency intact._

_If only Targaryen would stop looking at her like_ that _._

_The old man released his grip on the desk, and she saw his shoulders slump before he stood upright and looked her in the eye._

_She wilted under the gaze, because one minute ago, the man looked desperate, and now he looked determined._

_“Yes Lannister,” he said, his voice cold but steady. “What’s done is done.”_

_She looked away, this was even worse than the man’s pleading desperation._

_“Give me an hour to tell my employees, and then my company is yours.”_

_She nodded and left the office, left the building, had her driver take her to a cafe near her hotel for some coffee, her work was done for the day._

_She was texting Cersei when she felt the rumble below her feet. The glass of the cafe windows shook, but didn’t break, and she ran outside, but she already knew what she would find._

_Targ Tower was gone._

Jaime felt her leave him, like ripping a bandage off his entire body, it was too much, everything was far too much.

Jaime had watched the videos later, watched the building collapse as the wildfire bombs went off in the parking garage, watched as the green flames enveloped the metal behemoth before burning out.

Targaryen had stayed in the inferno, and the investigators eventually found his fingerprints on the bombs, found the detonator in his office. He’d killed his entire staff, including his oldest son, rather than allow Lannister Corp. to have his company.

He was a monster, he had always been a monster, Jaime had told himself that as he read the book from his wife about the years spent in her abusive marriage. And several former employees had come forward, detailing his erratic behavior behind closed doors.

But none of it mattered. His name didn’t come up, because really, he was just a middleman, but he knew it was his fault. 

He’d seen the crazy bastard, he should have stopped it. He remembered a young woman, brown hair, blue eyes, with a shy smile, she had pressed the button for him as he took the elevator down. He couldn’t bear to know her name so he never looked, and for years he had dreams about her, grabbing her hand, trying to pull her out as he left for the day, but she always refused. 

She refused to be saved.

_Like Aerys, like Cersei._

He looked at Brienne, and she had pity in her eyes, and he wanted to thank her for it, but he wouldn’t, he didn’t deserve her pity.

“Don’t look at me,” he whispered, his voice quivering as he tried to wrestle himself back to normal. “Please, don’t.”

He could feel a sob coming on, and he wanted her to leave, she had already seen too much, she shouldn’t see this too, he failed so many people, he couldn’t fail _her_ too.

He looked down, hiding from her once again, but she did not run. She stepped toward him, holding her arms out, and more than anything else in the entire world, he wanted her, a ghost, to hold him. 

And of course she couldn’t, but he let her surround him as she dissolved, coming undone and swirling herself around him, keeping him safe as he cried his shame away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is legit one of the most fun chapters I've ever written; a body swapping, mind meld, almost ghost sex encounter is not something I would have ever thought of, but I'm glad I did. Hope you enjoyed it too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!

It had been two weeks since that night.

It had been a good two weeks; he’d drafted renovation plans for the suites that would keep the bones of the structure intact, but would hopefully make the place less gloomy. Pia had told him that fall was their busy season, and she hadn’t been lying, the hotel had been bustling with families visiting the nearby Harvest Fair.

His father had even stopped by and given him a nod of approval over his ideas. 

He should be happy.

But it had been a bad two weeks, because _she_ was gone.

She had floated above him, danced around him, keeping him safe until he stopped crying, and then she vanished, leaving him alone after everything they had been through.

Losing Cersei had hurt more, but somehow this loss cut deeper; they had seen too much to just be apart now, but she wanted to be gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Now he slept and wished to dream of her, to see more of the girl she had been, to see how this harsh, brutal world had made someone like _her_ , but there was nothing. He slept a peaceful sleep, and he hated every minute of it.

But he kept going, he did not let himself sink, because if there was a chance that he could see her again, he had to be there to take it.

So, he kept busy, even let Pia draw him in to helping with decorating the lobby for All Hallows. He had no talent for it, but he was tall, he could follow Pia’s directions with minimal problems, and she created something between cute and spooky, just what he needed.

“We don’t talk about The Blue Lady,” she whispered to him as he was taping a cobweb to the ceiling. 

He looked down at her and she looked away. “In case you think it would hurt the renovations. We don’t tell people about her.”

She turned her back on him, grabbing a dusty box from under her station. “If a guest does spot her, we just say something bland to deflect them, make them think it was just a coincidence.”

She came back to him, handed him a small spider for the web. “It’s our duty to protect her.”

She said the words solemnly, like a knight accepting a sacred quest, not like a low-level employee explaining something fantastical to the owner’s son.

“I understand,” he said, and he did, of course he did, he was still here for her, to help her or hide her _,_ whatever she needed, he would give. 

He stepped off the ladder, and surveyed the lobby, and the decorations were nothing special, but it gave the room a lived-in feeling; the decorations were outdated and chipped in parts, but they reminded him that the place had a history, and that that didn’t mean it had to be a bad one.

“I think we’re good here Mr. Lannister,” she said with a grin. 

_We are_

He would be leaving soon, not tomorrow, but in a week or so. His father had accepted his plan, the contractors would be here, and he knew that the best thing to do at that point was to stay out of their way.

He hoped she would come back before then, but maybe it was for the best. What they had couldn’t be summed up in a one-sided goodbye, maybe it was better to just let it be.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” he asked Pia and she grinned at him again.

“The staff will be in costumes, and we host a party in the lobby for the guests. Sometimes the kids will go treating around the rooms, but I can instruct them to stay away from yours, if you’d like.”

He nodded. Let them have their fun, he told himself, but he was going to stay in, away from the crowds and the joy. 

He’d only ruin it.

“I’ll arrange it,” she said, and he knew she would. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He went back to his room, tried and failed not to think of Brienne.

It was early, too early to be this tired, but it didn’t stop him from crawling into bed, shutting out the lights, shutting out the world, and maybe seeing her again.

***

The knock was loud, so loud, he sat up, his heart racing, a line of sweat forming on his forehead.

He looked at his phone, it was just after 1 in the morning, his breath catching as he raced for the door.

He opened the door, and she was there, standing in front of him.

_Standing_

He looked at her feet, they were firmly on the ground, she was firmly on the ground, she had knocked on his door.

She looked at her pants, and her tunic, and he remembered looking down at his hands in his lap, those were the same clothes he’d been wearing when he died, when she died.

He looked in her eyes, and she was frightened, _she_ was afraid, but not of him.

“She said,” she paused, her voice cracking on the simple words, her first words in 600 years. “She said it, but I didn’t believe it.”

She massaged her throat, like the words hurt her, but they were only words, they shouldn’t hurt, he thought to himself.

He held the door for her, and she walked into his room, her movements were jerky, she was unsteady on her feet, her limbs trembling as he closed the door behind them.

He couldn’t believe his own eyes, they had lied to him so many times before, but just the once, they told him the truth.

He walked up to her, so close he could feel her breath on his face.

He felt drawn to her, like right now all he wanted to do was wrap himself around her just to make sure she was real. 

_She stood in front of him, the new girl, Cersei was the name he heard whispered in the halls of his prep school, and here she was, her shiny blonde hair in waves down her back, and she turned to him, and yes, this was love, he told himself, this inexplicable need to be near her. He walked toward her, and she smiled, she felt the same, he knew it in his bones, they were meant for each other._

He’d forgotten that, and here it was again, the same feeling, 20 years later.

He brought his hand to her face, hovering above her skin, and he saw the flush in her cheeks before he touched her, cupping her cheek, gasping at the warmth in her skin.

She jerked away from him, her eyes panicked. She held her hands to her face, feeling the echo of his touch.

“I didn’t believe her.”

She clasped her arms around herself, trying to calm her trembling arms, and without a thought he stepped forward, enclosing her around him, holding her tightly to his chest.

“I died,” she whispered. “I’m dead.”

She had died on these very grounds, maybe she had spent time in this very room, but she was also alive, her heart beating against his chest, her tears falling onto his shoulder.

“You’re alive,” he said softly. 

She looked at him, pulling herself away from his arms, and he felt her absence too deeply. He reached for her again, holding her face in his hands, standing on his tiptoes to look her in the eye.

“You’re alive,” he said firmly. 

She touched his chest, her fingers gently stroking his bare skin. He’d forgotten, he was only in his boxers, and she blushed, her whole face going red, but she didn’t stop. She ran her hands delicately along his pecks, and he shivered, her touch was too light and he was ticklish.

“That woman, The Red Woman, she said I would live again, but I died,” her eyes wide and full of fear. “I died.”

He leaned forward and kissed her. 

He closed his eyes, pulling her toward him, and she was very much alive, kissing him back, opening her warm body to him as she clung to him, keeping as little light between them as possible 

She had come back, she was in his arms, he was not letting her go.

He would never let her go again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End!

Between kisses, she told him she was tired, she needed to sleep, she wanted to sleep, so they slept.

He lent her a shirt and some boxers, and he turned around for her privacy, and he laid down next to her, gripping her hand as she drifted off.

He followed her into dreams, but he did not let go of her hand. He woke up with the dawn, his hand sweaty, and as the weak autumn sunrise came into view, she was still there.

She woke up as he did, her eyes sparkling as she smiled shyly at him.

"I've never slept with a man before," she said, her cheeks flushed. She ran a hand over her neck, a neck with no scars, no sign of the wound that ended her life.

He leaned toward her, kissed her softly on her forehead. 

He kept kissing her as the light grew stronger, and he wouldn't have stopped except her stomach started to growl.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her.

"Yes?" she said, looking confused. "I guess that's what that means."

She had forgotten, he thought as they dressed, she'd forgotten what it's like to have a body to care for.

He called the front desk, looking at her with a smile, and ordered one of everything on the breakfast menu.

She ate with gusto, sighing and moaning as she got to eat food that she had only seen before. She loved scrambled eggs, did not like bacon, and devoured the biscuits, information Jaime filed away for next time.

_Next time_

His heart stopped at the words, his heart was already hers, his heart was already prepared to crush him when she left again.

“Can we go somewhere?” she asked, her voice soft, so soft it pulled him out of his moody thoughts.

“Of course,” he replied, a look of concern on his voice. “Can you leave here?”

She shook her head, her hand automatically going to her throat, checking for the wound that wasn’t there.

“I feel this tug down here,” she pointed to her stomach. “The further out on the grounds I go, it gets stronger until I can’t move at all.”

She turned away from him, grabbing a sweater of his from the closet to throw over her tunic, a sweater that was now his favorite sweater. “But it won’t matter, I want to go somewhere here.”

She led him outside, past the lobby filled with candy and treats for the children due to invade, and they walked together under a gray sky, not a bit of sun shining through the clouds.

She took him to The Spirit Walk, stopping at the first plaque, just like he had.

“I knew him,” she whispered as her fingers ran over Roose Bolton’s name. “He deserved it.”

He nodded; he didn’t know the name, the family had died out long ago, but he believed her. 

She skipped the rest until she stood before her own plaque, running her hands over the lies about her life.

“The wind,” he said, and she did not look at him. “That day, that was you?”

She nodded, turned to him with a small smile. “I wanted to make sure you knew me.”

She ran her hands over her portrait as a light breeze lifted up her hair. “I made sure everyone knew me.”

She looked down, and her smile died as she read the words on her memorial.

“I’ve never seen this,” she told him, tears rolling down her reddened cheeks. “I didn’t know … I didn’t know he cared that much.”

She gripped the plaque, her plaque, her shoulders shaking as she held onto it for support. 

She turned to him, her eyes so shiny, so very sad. “He never protected me, always told me I had to learn to protect myself, that I was strong enough to protect myself. And then this …”

Jaime felt frozen as he stared at her grief. Long ago, he had stopped trying to get his father to be proud of him, to look at him with anything other than contempt, but she had never learned how to, and now she never would.

He had seen her love for him, her shame in how disappointing she felt herself to be, it was as much a part of her as Aerys was for him. But that didn’t mean she had to live it with it alone.

He laughed at his own words, but only on the inside as he stood next to her, wrapping his arm around her waist, holding her close to him. She shivered at the contact, but nestled into him as her tears stopped.

“He was so distant,” she said, and he nodded, he knew all about that. “I never thought ..”

She turned to him, placing her frozen hands on his neck. “What happened to him?”

He couldn’t tell her, he had to tell her, he couldn’t tell her, he had to tell her …

“He died,” he said, because it was the truth, but she didn’t need all of it right now, if ever. 

He didn’t look away from her, she would know he was holding something back, but it was okay, it was the only thing that was okay.

“And me?”

“The records say you died of a fever.” Short and simple words to disguise a mountain of grief for her father, but they kept her secret, that’s what mattered. 

She nodded, her face was still red, her eyes were still too sad, and he kissed her, he kissed her in front of the plaque commemorating her death on these very grounds.

And she was alive, and she kissed him back.

***

Back in his room, in their room, he was restless. 

She had played with the TV remote, something she was fascinated by, just clicking something and having it respond to your will from across the room.

Over lunch, she told him about growing up on Tarth, and he told her stories of his family home in Lannisport, growing up with his brother and his cousins, how he wished his brother would find his own path, instead of trying to force their father to respect him, something Jaime was certain would never happen.

After lunch, she asked him if he would buy her a book, she had read part of it with a guest many years ago, and she wanted to know how it ended.

He pulled up his phone, showed her how to navigate it, and soon she was curled up on the couch, nestled into his lap while he watched a football match, immersed in a dream world, taking her time to read a romance novel now that she could hold the pages herself.

She put his phone down after an hour. 

“You read the whole thing?”

She shook her head. “I read the last chapter,” she said softly. “I needed to know how it ended.”

They did not talk through dinner, another feast that Jaime had ordered for them, and he felt the weight of the food in his stomach, a weight that would drown him if he let it. 

She felt it too, he saw her pick at her food, barely touching any of it as the daylight left the room, washing it in gloom.

He heard the clock strike 8, and he jumped, because for the first time, he was truly afraid that she would leave him again.

“That night,” he said, his chest constricting on the words he didn’t want to say. 

“That night.” She repeated his words back to him, her voice so soft, like she was losing it again. 

“You left.” It hurt to say it, but he had to say it; he always left things unsaid with Cersei, and if she hadn’t died, he would have kept doing it, and he had to be better with her, even if it hurt.

“I left,” she said, her voice so quiet as she looks away. “You saw …”

She took a breath, a deep breath, unused to the movements. “You saw too much.”

She looked at him, her eyes clear and hard, expecting him to laugh at her, after everything they’ve been through, she still expected cruelty in exchange for vulnerability.

“I never told anyone about Aerys,” he whispered, not taking his eyes away from her. “Everyone knew I was there, but I never said …” His voice trailed off and she nodded.

“That you thought you saw him decide?”

He nodded, took a drink with shaking hands. He had felt everything in her memories, he hadn’t really thought about the reverse. But she knew everything too.

“What happened to us?”

She shook her head, looking away from him. “I’d never done that before,” she said, still not looking at him. “I didn’t know.”

She breathed in, holding her breath, holding her life in her body. “No one ever tried to touch me.”

_Fools_

“I want to touch you,” he said, his voice low, almost growling. 

He stood up, and she followed, and she was standing in front of him, and he was kissing her again, holding her to him, willing her to see the truth.

She did, she did, her hands were in his hair, and she had never kissed anyone before him, but her lips were made for kissing, how could no one else have seen that.

And he didn’t want to stop.

He reached under her sweater, _his_ sweater, and caressed her back, her skin was so soft, and her hands so rough as she did the same, what a contrast she was, what a delicious mystery.

He started kissing her neck when she pulled back from him.

Her eyes were filled with doubt as she looked him over, her lips puffy and well kissed, her breath ragged.

“Are you sure?” she whispered and flinched at her own words, her eyes filled with terror.

_He’s standing in front of the boy his father told him was going to marry him, and his intended has nothing but hate in his eyes for him, he throws the rose -_

He can see that look still, and he shudders as the memory floods his mind, but he also gently pets her cheeks before kissing her again.

“Yes,” he said firmly, almost sharply, but he cannot help himself, he kisses her again, and there are no more words needed for either of them.

***

_He found her._

_He finally found her._

_Cersei smiled at him, a look of triumph in her green eyes, eyes that were like his, but not like his, his eyes were never that sharp._

_“Jaime,” she says, but her mouth doesn’t move, but it’s her voice, and he steps toward her, opening his arms, when he hears shuffling behind him._

_Brienne walked toward him, her arm stretched out, but it wasn’t an arm, it was just a bone, a bone that quickly turned to dust as she reached for him._

_But that didn’t stop her, she held out her other hand, and it was gone too, a perfectly good arm was now dust at her feet._

_He took a step toward her, his Blue Lady was disappearing, he had to help her, when he felt Cersei’s hand on his arm, her sharp nails pressing into his skin._

_He looked at her, not believing what was happening._

_“Leave her be,” she said, her face still and cold. “She’s already dead, let her go.”_

_“I will not.”_

_He wrenched his arm free, and he did not look back as he knelt next to Brienne. She had lost her legs, she was fading, but she still had her eyes, and they were so scared, he wanted to hold her hand, to reassure her, but she had no hands left, she was almost all gone._

_He brushed her hair back, held her face and kissed her forehead, hoping it was enough, hoping that maybe this time it would be enough._

_He closed his eyes as she faded from his sight. He felt the dust on his hand where she had just been, but he would not look, he would not see her as only dust._

_He would remember a strong warrior, strong enough to survive her life, one who never backed down from what was right, even if it would have been easier._

_That’s the woman he loved._

***

He opened his eyes, turning to the phone on his left. It was after 1, and he couldn’t look, he didn’t want to see her gone, he wanted to hold the memory of her falling asleep in his arms after their night together, he did not want a memory of another empty bed.

He closed his eyes, he could do this, he could pretend for a few more hours that she was his, he only had to go to sleep.

“Jaime.” 

He heard the whisper, but he did not believe it until he felt her hand on his hip, her warm, calloused hand.

He felt the tears escape him, he let them go before turning back to her.

“You’re here.”

She was crying as she touched her neck, touched him, touched everything she could.

“I’m here.”

He held her as she cried, held her to him as she fell asleep in his arms.

There was so much to work out, he would have to get her papers and a past and vaccinations, and he would take her somewhere filled with sunshine, and maybe she would only be alive again for a short time, but she was alive, she was here, they were both still here.

***

He woke her up with a soft kiss on her shoulder, a kiss that traveled all over her body.

“Why me?” he asked her between kisses. “Why did you reach out to me?”

She paused as she looked up at him. It was hard to find her words sometimes, it was hard to remember that she could use them.

“You were so lost,” she said, holding his face in her hands. She kissed him gently on his forehead, kissing the worry line between his eyes. 

“You were just like me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love ghost stories, and I love happy endings, but it's hard to mix the two, because ghost stories are inherently sad, and what kind of happy ending can you have when one of the pair is dead?
> 
> But even if 'High Spirits' is a deeply goofy film, it got that right. The ghost gets to live again, after her human lover proves his love for her. And his shrewish wife gets to live with her ghost lover (after her untimely death), and even a priest finds a woman to love. 
> 
> Woo woo for love.
> 
> And I wrote a scene explaining how Brienne came back to life, but ultimately I didn't like it, but here's the jist: 
> 
> Melissandre comes to see Brienne the night before her execution. She says she has wronged Brienne (which, you know, fair), and promises her that she will live again, then kisses Brienne, stealing her voice ala Ursula, and makes her forget that memory. Her resurrection was tied to love, but I kept the details vague, and ultimately, it seemed like it wasn't necessary, so I axed it, but there's some lore for you.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!!! The comments and the kudos bring a lot of joy in these dark times, and I'm grateful for all of them.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did. <3 <3 <3


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